


These Walls Keep Secrets

by A_Touch_Of_Insanity



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Angst, But also, Canon Era, Enjolras Was A Charming Young Man Who Was Capable Of Being Terrible, First Time, Hate Sex, Kinda, M/M, PWP, Pining, do not expect a healthy relationship from the beginning, don't worry they're working on it, handjobs, less of the charm an more of the terrible tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 18:22:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17309579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Touch_Of_Insanity/pseuds/A_Touch_Of_Insanity
Summary: Tensions rise as the rain falls. Grantaire aches for his beautiful, fierce friend and actions borne from anger have consequences that will change their relationship irretrievably.





	These Walls Keep Secrets

It started out an uneventful meeting on an unremarkable day in late winter or early spring. Only a matter of perspective differentiates the two and Grantaire had long decided to take everything pessimistically and thus he concluded that it was still winter. It had been raining heavily when they had gathered and so Les Amis d’ABC were clustered more closely to the fireplace and in a further state of undress than usual. Overcoats and waistcoats alike were strewn across the backs of chair and around the fire to dry. The ideas that were being shared were unchanged from those of the last meeting and Grantaire would argue equally as useless as any of the proposals made by the group. Nothing would work and we are doomed, he repeated again to an audience already familiar with him and so took no notice.

Grantaire was comfortable at the small table in the corner nearest the fire, several cups of wine alread consumed and another in his had. He had been sitting with Joly and Bossuet when they had first arrived, but sensing his fowl mood they had left to fin dmore pleasent company. 

Enjolras arrived late, which was uncharacteristic. It turned out that he had donated his only change to some beggars outside his apartments and so had to walk across half the city to the cafe Musain rather than take a carriage.  As his friends stripped him of his sodden outer layers of clothing he was rambling feverishly against the use of coaches. 

‘If the poor must remain trapped in their slums because they cannot afford the fee of transport to a better workplace,’ he argued, his violent shivering causing his voice to shake a little, ‘then it seems only right that we too should travel by foot until there is justice for them.’

The point he made was sound enough but the quivering in his words made his point sound less certain and Grantaire offered a quick rebuttal. Soon they were tit for tat with argument, quickly settling in for what has become a staple of their conversations. Although Grantaire was never committed to the points he was making he was quick and sharp-witted and nearly always managed to pick holes in any of Enjolras’ points or proposals. That day, however, his tongue was not quite as fast and he soon became deeply distracted.

Enjolras, you see, had been walking for a very long time and had been soaked to the skin. His hair, normally fair and tied neatly off his face, was darkened with rain and hung loose to his shoulders. His friends had decided it was in his best interests too, as well as stripping him of his overcoat and waistcoat, remove his shirt so it could be allowed to dry by the fire. Enjolras, despite still shivering a little, did not seem to mind that this left his top half in only a thin undershirt made partially transparent in the rain.

It was his nipples that were distracting Grantaire. The dark skin of them was made clearly visible through the dampness of the shirt which sometimes would cling to them and add to Grantaire’s torment. He has long come to accept that he was attracted to Enjolras, mind and body, and only made lacklustre attempts to hide it but it was only in the last few weeks that he had realised that this was not some feeble infatuation. He was in love. And, now knowing that, he had sunken deeper into his longing and now could not tear his eyes away from where Enjolras’ nipples shows through his shirt and imagine what a fine chest lay beneath.

God, Grantaire would die for that man.

Enjolras, noticing that Grantaire was disinterested in the debate although oblivious to the reason why, dismissed his latest half-hearted retort and made to move on to speak to a larger grouping of his friends.

Despairing at his loss, Grantaire threw one last insult. ‘It is a good idea to ignore me, I suppose. Better surround yourself with these pretty sycophants who you would let suck your cock and never question your tedious ideals.’

He spoke boldly and loudly and the whole room went quiet. The barb had clearly stuck and Enjolras seethed visibly. ‘You are wrong. My friends are loyal to me because of my _tedious_ ideals,’ he spat. ‘You don’t even know what loyalty means.’

Grantaire was wounded by the insult. ‘Ah, forgive me. I had forgotten for a moment that our dear Enjolras is a virgin.’ It was played as a joke but with a sting like ice. No one laughed; they barely breathed the room was so still. ‘I apologise, my friends, I am too deep in my cups.’ Grantaire gestured to the wine which he had been drinking to explain away his brashness. The tension in the room eased somewhat until Enjolras spoke again.

‘You are a fool.’

‘I play the fool, it is true. But that is only because I know this imminent rebellion is a fool’s errand and they shall all be killed for your foolish ideals.’ 

‘And you will not die with us?’

‘I will not die for you ideals, dear leader,’ Grantaire shrugged, leaning back in his chair so that he could make direct eye contact with the man scowling above him.  ‘I will die for _you_.’

It wasn’t anything Grantaire hadn’t said before, a thousand times over, whilst drunk and to anyone who would listen. This time, however, he said it with enough conviction that the room became still once again and every eye was turned to him. All except Enjolras who had averted his gaze as soon as the words were uttered and was now staring at the floor, motionless. 

The silence grew tense and awkward, Grantaire was preparing to speak again, perhaps a joke to lighten the mood but was cut off before he had the change.

‘Out!’ he barked. Grantaire assumed it was directed at him but made no move to follow as Enjolras was still kicking eyes with the floorboards. The others shuffled uncomfortably. ‘Everybody out. This meeting is no longer productive. We shall be meeting Sunday at the usual time but for now I do believe it is best if you all could leave. Now.’

It was a command, an order, and with military obedience his friends hurried about collecting their overcoats and downing the last drops of their wine. The goodbyes they muttered were hushed and uncertain, they had never seen their leader act in such a way and it troubled them. Many cast glances, a mixture of angry and sympathetic, at Grantaire as they left the private back room of the cafe.

Grantaire himself had made to leave as well, beginning to rise from his chair, but a glare from Enjorlas, still locked in position, kept him seated. It was a clarification that the command was not meant for him after all. He sat tensely, leg twitching and tapping as he waited whatever was to come. He had pushed Enjolras too far, that much was clear. Enraged with lust and longing he had made Enjolras despise him further than before and he feared that this might be the end. He could not stop Grantaire from seeing Les Amis, they were his friends also, but he could bar him from meetings and he would never hear that fierce beautiful voice again. As soon as the thought crossed his mind Grantaire could not bear it and decided at that moment that he could not let that happen at any cost.

When at last the room was cleared, Enjolras finally raised his head. His hair, still slightly damp, clung to the side of his face until prized free worth a unthinking gesture. Still without words he walked to the door and Grantaire thought for a moment that he might just walk out and leave. He did not; instead he pulled the door to and turned the key, locking them inside. This was a curious move and it made Grantaire’s stomach twist with uncertainty. He gazed upon his beloved with suspicion as the man slowing paced towards him, eyes still intent on the ground. He stopped just short of where Grantaire sat at the small table in the corner closest the dwindling fire.

‘Stand up.’

Another command, the same tone he had used as he had urged his friends out of the room. Grantaire complied with the same obedience they had. They now stood at arms length apart, face to face, the dim light of afternoon through the window. Grantaire felt the urge to say something, perhaps apologise for his words, anything to abate the silence. It was Enjolras, however, who spoke next.

‘Take off your trousers.’

His voice was emotionless and face neutral, so much so that Grantaire struggled to comprehend his words. 

‘What?’ He stammered a little, face and neck and chest growing hot with crippling unease. Was this a joke?

‘That is what you want from me, isn’t it?’ Enjolras spat the words like a cobra. He clarified his meaning with a further harsh inquiry. ‘Sex?’

Grantaire gulped, his mouth dry and everything now hot and crushing in on him. ‘No!’ he spluttered, quickly correcting himself. ‘I mean, yes, of course. But, no I...don’t...I don’t want you to...need you to...’

He couldn’t find the words to explain the overwhelming conflicting sensations in his mind. He didn’t have time to, either, for a moment later Enjolras had grabbed him by the shoulder and quite forcefully pushed him back against the wall, pinning him in place and briefly knocking the wind from his chest. Enjolras began to busy himself untucking Grantaire’s shirt and unfastening his trousers.

Graintaire protested weakly. ‘You don’t have to do this.’

‘But this _is_ what you want?’ Enjolras pressed, not slowing his efforts.

Grantaire nodded, noncommittally. He wanted it more that anything in the world but half of him was sure Enjolras would recoil in disgust the moment he admitted it and would refuse to see him again.

Enjolras, at this time, had now loosed his trousers enough to his satisfaction. In one smooth movement he reached inside and wrapped his fingers around Grantaire’s cock which had, treacherous thing, been hard since he had been gazing at Enjolras’ nipples and was now leaking copiously. So much for not appearing too eager his cock practically twitched at the contact. Enjolras locked eyes with Grantaire, a fierce gaze betraying no hint of affection and began to stroke.

His first few pumps of Grantaire’s cock were hesitant, clearly unpracticed at this angle upon a body other than his own. He soon realised he needed more room to manoeuvre and opened up Grantaire’s trousers enough to free his cock completely. From then on the movements were more confident and Grantaire had to bit his tongue to stop from shouting out. He had to concentrate on staving off orgasm already before a minute was up. 

Grantaire reached out, at first to feel Enjolras’ chest through his shirt and then to embrace him but every time he tried his hand were batted away and pinned firmly back against the wall. Grantaire could not pretend that Enjolras was doing this out of affection. At least, he thought, he had provoked this through rage rather than some twisted sense of duty to his fellow man. Grantaire could not live with himself if he had debased Enjolras to such an act out of pity.

No, this was definitely rage. Such emotion, Grantaire always found, aided rather than hindered sex acts. It was making Enjolras’ grip tight enough that each stroke felt like it could be the last. 

Enjolras, for his part, whilst clearly inexperienced, knew his way round a cock better than many of the girls Grantaire had been with. Clearly the virgin was not too icy as to not masturbate from time to time. He had worked out a comfortable position now, one hand on the wall to learn on, propping his body up and away from Grantaire’s own, the other hand moving quickly in the space between them. 

‘This is what you think about, I assume,’ Enjolras hissed, startling Grantaire as neither of them had dared to speak so far since the altercation began. ‘When the rest of us are here dreaming of revolution, you sure there dreaming of my hand on your cock. Or your hand on mine. Or no doubt other sordid acts I have yet to consider.’

Somehow his insult and derogation only powered Grantaire’s arousal to greater heights. He nodded meekly and added, ‘It is true. Sex is not always in my mind but when it is...it is persistent.’

‘So you do sometimes listen to my words?’  His expression softened slightly and that was enough reward that Grantaire didn’t even mind that he relaxed his strokes as his asked it.

‘Almost all of them,’ he gasped and it was true. ‘Today I was...overcome. It shall not happen again.’

‘You are right, it shall not,’ he said and although breathless it was definitely still a command. Just that thought caused a surge of heat in Grantaire’s crotch and his cock to still further leak fluid onto Enjolras’ hand.

Enjolras continued his task with new vigour. His fingers were long and so could properly encircle Grantaire’s generously sized cock, and they were deft enough to circle in that spot just under the head that makes his knees go weak. As soon as Enjolras sensed that particular reaction he began repeating the movement again and again, making him go dizzy with heat. Grantaire leans his head back against the wall and pants, mouth open, fingers scrabbling to find purchase on the wall. 

Any softening Enjolras’ anger that has occurred from the conversation had vanished and in its place a stones expression that seemed to border on disgust. He kept going, strokes becoming more aggressive and forceful, grip exactly how Grantaire liked to pleasure himself. He had tried to last as long as he could, make himself seem less pathetic in his pitiful situation but he could not hold it off much longer, whining under his breath. Near relief he would normally squeeze his eyes tight but he could not for fear that he would miss out on just one second of Enjolras’ fearful beauty. He could not risk it.

‘Enjolras,’ he groaned, trying to warn him. ‘Enjolras, I...I’m...’

‘What?’ he snapped and gave such a scornful look that it sent Grantaire over his edge within moments.

He shuddered and slumped back against the wall, spent, as Enjolras weakly stroked him through his completion. He saw Enjolras look at his release-covered hand with scorn as he pulled it away. Grantaire allowed himself to close his eyes for a second to revel in the sensation of bliss and relief and sudden inexplicable exhaustion. 

He felt felt a sudden pressure and opened his eyes to understand that Enjolras had taken his weight off the hand on the wall, now resting loosely on his elbow but mostly, it seemed, on Grantaire’s own body. He could feel the dampness of Enjolras’ shirt seep through his own and his hair tickled against his face. More importantly he could feel Enjolras’ cock on his thigh and it was hard. That had to mean something.

Breathing heavy and high off pleasure Grantaire took a risk and crept his hand across Enjolras’ thigh to rest atop his crotch. For the moment his hand was there he could feel the heat of his cock through the material but within a second it was slapped away and Enjolras withdrew, so that they were one again face to face. Grantaire, still eager, leant forward and reached up with the intention of a kiss, one which he had long dreamt of. He was close enough the feel Enjolras’ breath on his lips before he instead feels Enjolras’ hand push his face sideways away. 

The hand he had been so unceremoniously rejected with was that same hand covered in his own release. It smeared on his face and his could feel it drip along his cheek. Enjolras looked at him with revulsion, although whether the look was addressed to Grantaire or at the realisation of his own actions it was hard to determine. He scowled and turned away, hurrying towards the fire where he retrieved his drying clothing and, without a word, rushed to the door.

‘Enjolras?’ Grantaire asked, to tired and bewildered to move further than to push himself off the wall. ‘Enjolras, please, wait!’

He did not wait. 

He left and slammed the door behind him. Barely able to stand, Grantaire leant against on the wall and quickly sunk to the floor. He tipped his head back, the smell of Enjolras’ hair lingering on one cheek, his own release smearing the other. He did not know what to do next and so he closed his eyes and tried not to think about the tears that escaped them.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and tune in for more soon! This was the least sexy sex I've ever written but don't worry, I plan for things to get hotter and slightly less broken next chapter. I'd love to hear what you think! (feedback literally makes my day) (tbh I'm as desperate for love and attention as poor Grantaire)


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